In a city accustomed to solemn ceremonies, few generate a silence as charged with history as the one honoring Richard Bruce Cheney today. The former vice president, a polarizing figure and architect of one of the most decisive —and controversial— chapters of modern American government, is being recognized as the country continues to assess the weight of his decisions and the profound imprint he left on the executive branch, national security, and Republican politics.
The tribute comes at a time when Cheney himself, already in the final stage of his public life, seems to have become a symbol of two opposing eras: that of the relentless fight against terrorism after the 9/11 attacks, and that of the internal resistance within the Republican Party in the face of the rise of Donald J. Trump —a battle in which his daughter Liz Cheney emerged as one of the most prominent dissenters.
When Cheney became vice president in 2001, the office had evolved from the ceremonial figurehead it had been for much of the 20th century. However, as Goldstein shows, it was Cheney who brought that transformation to its peak, becoming “the most powerful vice president in the history of the country.” His two terms redefined the relationship between the White House, the security agencies, and the powers of the president.
None of his predecessors —neither Walter Mondale, nor George H. W. Bush, nor Al Gore— wielded the influence that Cheney consolidated from the very first months of the Bush administration. His presence in the corridors of the West Wing was not that of a mere second-in-command, but that of an operator with authority, total access, and an almost doctrinal conviction about the need to restore strong presidentialism —an agenda he had pushed since the 1970s, shaped by his interpretation of congressional overreach after Watergate.
The morning of September 11, 2001, cemented this role. With President George W. Bush away from Washington, Cheney acted as the de facto authority, making decisions of enormous significance, including the order to shoot down suspicious aircraft —an episode that still generates debate about the constitutional limits of the office. To his critics, it marked the beginning of a period in which the executive branch operated with unprecedented opacity. To his defenders, it was the necessary response to a vulnerable nation.
The years following the attacks became a laboratory for presidential expansion. The country accepted —often without question— new surveillance practices, harsh interrogation techniques, detentions without judicial process, and a parallel legal system at Guantánamo. In all of these policies, Cheney’s influence was unmistakable.
His view of executive power rested on a maximalist interpretation of Article II of the Constitution. The president, he argued, should not be constrained by judicial rulings or congressional oversight committees when national security was at stake. This stance guided the design and implementation of the warrantless surveillance program, the justification of so-called “enhanced interrogation,” and the marginalization of dissenting voices within the government itself, particularly at the State Department and within sectors of the Department of Justice.
These decisions not only transformed the United States —they reshaped its global image. For many allied countries, they represented a departure from the democratic principles Washington had long defended. For others, they were the realistic expression of a superpower willing to act unilaterally to defend its interests.
Perhaps no legacy is more defining —or more divisive— than the Iraq War. Cheney was one of its strongest proponents, convinced of the existence of weapons of mass destruction and of the need to overthrow Saddam Hussein. His speech to the Veterans of Foreign Wars in 2002, in which he stated that there was “no doubt” about Iraqi weapons, became a symbol of the narrative that would lead to the invasion.
The absence of those weapons, the protracted conflict, and the regional consequences remain troubling elements in the historical assessment of his decisions. Over time, even conservative sectors began to distance themselves from that vision. But for Cheney, the conviction was absolute: in his logic, uncertainty was a luxury the country could not afford after the trauma of 9/11.
If the first half of the 21st century made Cheney the embodiment of unrestricted executive power, the second half saw him unexpectedly transformed into a symbol of institutional resistance to the influence of Donald Trump.
Liz Cheney assumed that role with a clarity that echoed her father’s intellectual rigidity, but applied to another battlefield: the preservation of electoral integrity and the rejection of attempts to overturn the 2020 election results. Her stature grew when she became vice-chair of the January 6 Committee, directly accusing Trump of orchestrating an attack on American democracy.
Dick Cheney supported his daughter without hesitation. In a campaign ad, he declared that Trump was “a threat to the republic like I’ve never seen.” It was not merely a political stance, but an explicit break with a party he had once helped shape.
For many traditional Republicans, Cheney —the same man who championed secrecy, intrusive surveillance, and the expanded use of force— became an uncomfortable reminder that power, even in its harshest form, must rest on institutional foundations.
The honors Cheney receives today are not a final verdict —no tribute in Washington ever is. Rather, they represent acknowledgment of the historical relevance of a man who helped shape the post-9/11 world and who, at the twilight of his career, confronted the internal metamorphosis of his own party.
Dick Cheney leaves behind a complex legacy: a strengthening of presidential power that alarmed constitutional scholars, a security framework that transformed civil liberties, a war that reshaped the Middle East, and a belated —but firm— call to safeguard democracy from authoritarian populism.
In a capital where power is often wielded from the shadows, Cheney always seemed most at home there. Yet history, inevitably, is written in the light of day. And today, as he receives honors in Washington, his figure emerges once again —imposing, controversial, impossible to ignore.